The leader of the conquerors faction rushed toward the man with predatory intent. The man's heart hammered as he quickly regained his guard, forcing himself to stabilize despite the tremor in his limbs. He had witnessed resurrections before—warriors returning from death stronger and more powerful—but this version sent ice through his veins. This was different. The entity inhabiting the leader's body bore no resemblance to the commander they had killed. Those black eyes, empty and infinite, bored holes into his soul as the possessed leader charged.
The man thrust his hands forward, summoning his power. Ten giant fireballs materialized, each nearly the size of his own head, one blazing from each fingertip. Heat scorched the air between them as he launched the flames at the approaching threat.
The leader dodged with inhuman grace, even catching one fireball mid-flight and crushing it in his bare hand as if it were nothing more than paper. The flames died without leaving a mark on his skin.
"I will end you," the entity spoke through the leader's mouth, its voice layered with something ancient and malevolent.
The possessed leader surged forward and delivered a devastating drop kick. The impact sent the man rocketing upward, crashing through the ceiling, then through a wall. Debris rained around him as momentum carried him to the building's edge. For a moment, his body hung suspended in the gaping hole, arms flailing uselessly. Then gravity claimed him.
He plummeted, desperately trying to activate his flight ability, reaching for any power that might save him. Nothing responded. His magic felt distant, unreachable, as though a wall had been erected between him and his abilities. The ground rushed up to meet him as he fell multiple stories.
The landing was brutal. His entire body convulsed from the impact, and he tasted bile rising in his throat. Though he had grown accustomed to surviving such falls, familiarity didn't diminish the agony. Each bone seemed to scream its protest. Pain radiated from his spine outward, a symphony of suffering.
The man struggled to stand, his legs shaking violently. He knelt, collapsed, tried again. Finally, he pressed his palm against the cold concrete and pushed himself up. Every movement sent fresh jolts of pain radiating through his battered frame. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool air.
Above, the leader peered down from the shattered window, a cruel smirk twisting his features. He bent his legs and leaped, plummeting directly toward the man with murderous intent.
"This body is far more flexible and durable than that Noah kid," the entity mused aloud as it descended, savoring each word. "Although that boy possessed considerable power—very considerable—this vessel has greater strength, superior everything. Fighting while trapped in his flesh was frustrating." The leader landed on his feet without injury, barely bending his knees. "Since I can easily enhance this body to twice its natural strength, fall damage means nothing. The vessel remained intact—lucky for me, but unfortunate for my killer." He pointed at the man with theatrical menace, his finger steady and unwavering.
The man turned, grimacing through waves of pain that threatened to overwhelm him. "You've risen from the dead. What are you—a Hollow?" He forced a bitter laugh despite his suffering, though the sound came out more like a wheeze. "I've fought Hollows before. They're difficult opponents, but they can be defeated."
The leader threw back his head and laughed, genuine amusement coloring the sound. The laugh echoed off the surrounding buildings, making it seem as though multiple entities were mocking him.
"I'm not a Hollow, you fool," the entity said, still chuckling. "Just because my eyes are black doesn't make me one of those creatures." His expression turned condescending, almost pitying. "Though you're right that Hollows are harder to fight, you missed something crucial. They can be killed. They return, yes, but they can be destroyed. They don't die permanently, but death comes easier to them—a one-way street of sorts. As for me? I die only once, then transfer to a new body. Technically I die, yet technically I don't."
"Stop spouting your nonsense," the man said, lifting his trembling hand and attempting to charge another fireball. Fear and defiance warred in his chest, each emotion fighting for dominance. His fingers sparked weakly, the flame struggling to form.
"I'm offering you valuable information here. You should listen," the entity said, closing the distance in three swift strides and driving a vicious kick into the man's stomach. The blow knocked him backward, forcing him to stumble and gasp for air. "Ungrateful little human, not paying attention to the words I'm saying. They matter." His voice dropped to something darker, more primal. "Whether you listen or not, you'll end up like everyone else who died. I always win."
The man breathed heavily, fighting through the pain to regain his footing. His body protested every movement, muscles screaming in rebellion, but he refused to stay down. Pride wouldn't allow it. Neither would the memory of his parents.
The leader raised his hand. Black mist began to seep from his palm like smoke from a funeral pyre, spreading until it covered nearly the entire area where they stood. The darkness felt alive, hungry, as though it possessed its own malevolent consciousness.
"Breathe this in, and you're dead," the entity warned, his eyes darkening to absolute voids.
"You think because you—" The man's words faltered. His vision blurred at the edges, tunneling inward. His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, consciousness slipping away like sand through fingers. The last thing he saw was the leader's satisfied smile.
The leader stepped forward, satisfaction evident in every movement. "Usually it takes hours of beating people before they fall unconscious, but you succumbed in less than five seconds. Pathetic." The mist flowed back into his body like a living thing returning home, disappearing into his pores. He conjured a blade—jagged, blood-red, and gleaming with malice—and raised it above his head. "Time for your execution."
"You think you could hurt my body with that soul-destroying sword of yours?" a voice said from behind him. "I wasn't even at my peak power. I was just holding back."
The leader whirled around, shock registering on his features. The man who had been lying on the ground moments before, nearly unconscious, now stood behind him, fully alert. His eyes blazed with renewed determination.
"How did you—" the leader began, then narrowed his eyes. "And also, I didn't know that I possessed a soul-destroying sword. How did you know that?" His voice took on a dangerous edge. "How do you know what weapon I've been using to permanently end my enemies?"
The man smiled, though the expression held no warmth. "You might as well show yourself, Dread. I've seen your physical form. There's no point in fighting me with the body you have now."
Dread's eyes widened, genuine surprise flickering across his stolen features. "How—how do you know my name?"
The ancient entity was truly surprised for the first time in decades. He had been stealing bodies for years, fighting beings across countless battlefields. His original body was gone, probably dust by now. When he had died, he had refused to accept death itself. He had fought the Grim Reaper, nearly ending its existence, but the Reaper had ultimately killed him. Dread had come back, though, clawing his way out of death's grasp. The only reason he hunted bodies after dying was to ensure the Reaper could never catch him again.
"Your physical body," the man said, his voice steady despite his injuries, "is probably dust by now. And you need your physical body to be able to transfer yourself inside it." That was another reason why Dread switched bodies constantly—without a physical form, he would be dead. He needed a vessel, any vessel, to anchor his consciousness to the mortal realm.
"Leave the body of the conqueror faction leader," the man said, staring up at his opponent with unwavering resolve. "Let it die, and I'll fight you, Dread."
Dread's facade began to crumble. Worry crept into his expression, an emotion he hadn't felt in years. Only a few people—barely three—knew who he truly was: his two generals before he had died, and that one kid.
A memory surfaced unbidden, sharp and clear.
"Please don't hurt him. He's just a kid," Grace had pleaded, her voice breaking.
Dread had smiled then, cold and merciless. "Just a kid? He's the one who decided to harm one of my generals."
Grace had shivered, pulling her young son closer. "He was just trying to defend himself. Your men were the ones who attacked first."
"How dare you speak up against me, you lowly woman," Dread had said, lifting his hand with casual cruelty. "I will kill you and your husband while your boy watches. I'm sure that will be far worse for him than death."
Before the young woman could even react, Dread had launched a small fireball at her. The fireball had struck true, exploding her body in a burst of flame and ash. Then he had done the same thing with her husband, ending his life in the same brutal manner. The young boy had stood there, frozen in shock, his eyes wide as tears streamed down his face, cutting clean paths through the soot and dirt.
"I won't forget this," the boy had whispered, his voice barely audible but filled with a promise that transcended his years.
A few weeks after he had finished grieving, the boy had disappeared. Dread had assumed he'd died of starvation or been killed by bandits. He'd given the child no further thought.
The memory flashed inside Dread's consciousness as he stared back at the man before him now. The man smiled, and in that smile, Dread saw the ghost of that traumatized child.
"You killed my parents, remember?" the man said quietly. His voice was calm, but underneath ran a current of barely contained rage. "I'm sure doing it was such a mundane moment in your life. I'm sure my parents didn't matter to you. They were just peasant people who don't matter anyway, people that you just forget about, right?"
The man laughed, though the sound held no humor. "You might be wondering how I'm still alive. You might be wondering how I'm not dead yet. After all, old age should have gotten me, should have ended my life. But you see, while I was leaving your terrible palace—of course, after your death, I would never have dared to do something while you were still living back then—I was walking through the forest. I ate a fruit." He paused, letting the words sink in. "I didn't know what the fruit was, honestly. I was just hungry back then. But once I ate it, the act was already done."
Dread's expression shifted to one of dawning horror.
"It was the only fruit in this world able to hold such power," the man continued, his voice gaining strength. "It gave me more life than I think anyone can comprehend. Illness can't kill me. No natural accident, not even old age, will end my life. And even then, it's hard for anyone to kill me." He took a step forward, and Dread instinctively took a step back. "So go ahead, search for your physical body. Because I want to face you with a smile on my face, and I'll make sure to torture you while I'm at it. You psychologically tortured me, so I'll physically torture you. This is your punishment for ending my mom and dad's lives that day."
The man raised his hand, and Dread could feel power gathering around him, different from before—more focused, more controlled.
"You can only stay in a body you've stolen for a day at most when you're not in your physical form, searching for a host," the man said. "At least, I think so. So search for your original body. It will be a hard fight, Dread, because I know you won't just lie there and let me kill you like that. But you know what? It's hard to kill a man who has nothing to lose anymore. It's hard to kill a man with everything already taken from him. And it's hard to kill a man who's already died."
Dread stared at the man, seeing him clearly for the first time. "I'm giving you a chance here, Dread," the man said.
"You're giving me a chance because you want to kill me in my original body," Dread said, his voice bitter. "That's not a chance. That's just you wanting to act out your sick fantasies on my physical form for what—happiness? Pleasure?" He laughed harshly. "Your parents are dead. What more does killing me accomplish? Killing me won't bring them back."
"Killing you will lessen the anger in my heart," the man said simply. "You'll be gone."
Dread laughed, though the sound was hollow. "I'll be dead, yes. I know I'll be dead. I don't know if I can fight the Reaper again. I don't mind fighting that monster, but you—you won't get any enjoyment out of this. Your parents are already dead. What's the point of killing me just so you could get some satisfaction?"
Dread left the leader of the conqueror faction's body. The leader collapsed immediately, lifeless, as Dread's essence departed. The laugh that followed filled the area they were in, disembodied and chilling. Bystanders who had witnessed the fight stood in shock, eavesdropping on the conversation. Thankfully, neither combatant had spotted them yet.
"What is this?" one man whispered, staring wide-eyed. "What do you think they're using? Something we've never seen before? Fireballs and whatnot—usually our powers come from our weapons. So what exactly are they using?"
"Magic," another man said, his voice trembling.
"Magic isn't real, you idiot," a third man said from behind the other one.
"Well, we just saw it, so it probably is," the second man retorted. "I swear, if you got any more evidence put in your face, you'd probably still believe magic isn't real. You're just stubborn, aren't you?"
"Yeah, but—" the third man interrupted himself. "But what? You just said it now. Magic's real. We just saw it."
As they continued talking in hushed, frightened tones, both Dread and the man stared each other down. Dread's essence hovered in the air, visible now as a dark, writhing shadow.
"You want to end my life with your own personal game," Dread said, his voice echoing strangely without a body to contain it. "Your parents are dead, long gone. And since you want to meet them so badly, since you want to see if your parents will love you, if you want to see your parents again, then you should let me end you while you're alive. It will only be the best thing to do. After all, you love your parents so much, so why don't you let me kill you?"
"Because killing you while I'm still alive will have shown that I haven't lost," the man said firmly. "And killing you while you're still terrorizing people means something."
"Do you really think that?" Dread asked, his voice taking on a mocking tone. "Do you really think that they would know I killed you? You'd just be rotting in the afterlife. They won't know your murderer. And if I die, if I fight the Reaper off, then I can just kill your parents. Or better yet, torture them."
The man's expression darkened, rage flashing in his eyes. "Don't you dare lay a hand on my parents."
"Then don't you dare kill me," Dread countered quickly. "If you don't want me to lay a hand on your precious little mother and father, then don't let me die. Let me live, probably for eternity." Dread's essence seemed to smile, though it had no face. "And if you do that, I won't even think about your parents. I won't think about you. I won't think about anyone. I'll just think about surviving, and your parents will be out of my mind and out of my memory. How does that sound?"
The man began to contemplate his choices, the weight of the decision pressing down on him like a physical force. Either he let this ancient entity die and risk it hurting his family in the afterlife, or he let it live and allowed it to continue its reign of terror. His hands clenched into fists, knuckles white with tension. Memories of his parents flooded back—his mother's gentle smile, his father's strong hands, the warmth of their small home before Dread had destroyed everything.
"Kill me," the man said finally, staring up at Dread's formless essence. His voice was steady, resolved. "Kill me. Because I'd rather feel shame, rather than have you hurling insults at me and my family. I'd rather die knowing I tried than live knowing I let you continue. Kill me now."
Dread's essence pulsed with dark satisfaction. "Gladly."